


And there’s a hand my trusty friend, and give us a hand of thine

by thetimesinbetween



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Anxiety, Christmas Decorations, Dogs, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Light Power Dynamics, Love Confessions, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21739294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetimesinbetween/pseuds/thetimesinbetween
Summary: Tommy comes over to put the angel on Jon and Emily's Christmas tree. There are a few other things Jon and Emily would like him to take care of, while he's in.
Relationships: Emily Black Favreau/Jon Favreau, Emily Black Favreau/Jon Favreau/Tommy Vietor, Jon Favreau/Tommy Vietor, Tommy Vietor/Emily Black Favreau
Comments: 13
Kudos: 50
Collections: Crooked Secret Santa 2019





	And there’s a hand my trusty friend, and give us a hand of thine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FlyingJo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingJo/gifts).

> FlyingJo requested this ship, particularly "anything with a Dynamic—Emily in charge of the boys, service top Tommy—things like that." 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this, FlyingJo! Happy holidays. <3

Tommy’s on the front porch for about two seconds before the door swings open. 

“Tommy!” Emily says brightly. 

“Emily,” Tommy replies, starting to grin.

“And my favorite girl!” Emily squats down in the doorway to pet Lucca. Christmas music emanates from the doorway, punctuated by the occasional bark. 

Tommy’s heart is, quietly, growing three sizes just looking at Emily and Lucca together. He has to stop himself from saying _my favorite girls! _back. He doesn’t think he could pull it off as a joke. 

“You’re _here_,” Emily finally says, smiling up at Tommy. He realizes abruptly that she’s at least two drinks in. “Would you put up our tree topper?” 

“_Help us, Tommy_!” Jon yells from inside.

“I told him I trust him, but he said he’s too wobbly to go up the ladder,” Emily explains, leading Tommy in. 

“_Help!!!_” Jon repeats. 

“He’s such a dumbass,” Tommy says, with great affection, and Emily smiles at him like, _god yeah, don’t you love him?_

Lucca sprints around the corner, skids across the hardwood into a chair, skitters her way onto a rug where she has more traction, and enthusiastically bowls Leo over. The zoomies begin, and Tommy laughs. “He never stood a chance,” he narrates, watching Lucca catch Leo and knock him over once more.

“Hey,” Jon says. His voice is all low and warm, which means he’s also buzzed. He has five ornaments in one hand and a whiskey in the other. 

“Hey, man.”

Jon hands the drink to Tommy. “Drink that,” he says. 

Tommy drinks it. 

“Now please do this tree topper,” Jon says. He takes the glass away, refills it from a decanter on the side table, and hands it right back to Tommy. He’s standing really close—but that’s Jon for you. “And catch up.”

Emily is laughing at them from the couch. Tommy wrinkles his nose at her, and downs the second drink.

“You were the one who said we were required to start drinking as soon as we turned the music on,” Jon informs her. Tommy can’t look away from the way Jon is looking at her. Just—utterly besotted. Jon sits down and slings an arm over Emily’s shoulders. “All of this is your responsibility now,” he tells her. 

He looks so relaxed. Tommy lets himself be just a little jealous.

“Okay, I’ll be responsible,” Emily replies, mock-stern. 

A matched set, Tommy thinks. Both tipsy, both flushed. And they look so cozy—Jon in sweatpants and a waffle-knit henley, Emily in a fluffy bathrobe and pink slipper socks. 

Tommy feels overdressed in jeans and a nice hoodie. He kind of wishes he could go borrow some of Jon’s sweats, but that would be silly. He’s glad they insisted he come over—he’d been listening to The Weeds podcast, throwing a ball for Lucca, thinking maybe he’d go on a run. Doing nothing, really. Being lonely. Nothing he’d remember even a few days from now. 

This is much better.

“Tommy,” Emily says, still stern. “As the responsible party, I insist that you top the tree.” 

“Dating these days,” Tommy says. “The tree could buy me a drink first, at least.” 

They snort in unison. Jon gestures to the empty glass in Tommy’s hand. Emily raises her eyebrows. 

“You two thought this through, huh,” Tommy says. “Smart guys.” He sets down the glass and climbs the ladder. 

There’s a definite wobble.

“You really weren’t kidding about the wobbling,” he says. 

“Nope,” Jon says. 

“I think it’s the ladder,” Tommy says. 

“It’s at least twenty percent the whiskey,” Emily says. 

“But we trust you,” Jon adds, safe and sound on the couch and not about to split his head open in the most cliche way possible. 

“_So_ helpful,” Tommy laughs, but in the end he gets the angel positioned without major or minor injury. He puts some more ornaments up near the top, too, so the decorations aren’t so bottom-heavy. 

“She looks good up there,” Jon says. “The angel.” He’s had most of another drink, and his legs have loosed out into sprawl. Leo has found a spot on his lap, and Jon’s rubbing him behind an ear without seeming to think about it.

“Great job, Tommy,” Emily says, which makes him blush, which is very, very silly, and not worth thinking about at all. “Now would you start the fire?” 

He starts the fire. It’s a gas fireplace. Easy. 

“Would you get us all another drink?” Emily says. 

He get them all another drink, including himself, and stands in front of them, waiting.

“Hmmm,” she says, looking him over with a drink in her hand. “Would you let me pet your hair?” 

“Sure?” he says. He glances at Jon. “Is that part of the Christmas preparation process in this household?” 

“Absolutely. Required head pets for all,” Jon grins, pointedly scritching Leo’s ears. Lucca is now snuggled up right next to Leo, and noses at Jon’s hand, demanding her own scritches. “She’s very good at it,” Jon adds, reassuringly. 

“I never had a doubt,” Tommy says. He sits in front of Emily, on the floor, so she can reach him without moving, and proceeds to not have a single thought for half an hour as the three of them stare at the fire and Emily runs her fingers through his hair. 

“This is nice” falls out of his mouth. He wants to stuff the words back down his own throat. “Nice” honestly doesn’t even begin to describe how warm and safe and held he feels right now. And maybe he could have had it for another minute, another five minutes, if he hadn’t opened his dumb face. 

God. What is he _doing_. 

“Yeah?” Emily replies. Her hand rests on the crown of his head. 

“Yeah,” Tommy sighs. He pushes into her hand a little. Like Lucca does sometimes, he thinks. Begging for pets.

“Hmmm,” Emily says. She scratches over his scalp a few times, light and shivery. “How about…” she trails off. 

“What?” Tommy says, leaning into her hand some more. 

“How about, would you kiss my husband?” she says, quietly. 

Tommy whips around to look at her, shocked. She’s blushing. She’s serious. 

God—she’s _serious_. 

Tommy doesn’t look at Jon. He can’t.

He can feel himself blushing too. Emily rubs a thumb over his red cheek, sweet. Proprietary. 

“That seems like a good sign,” she says softly. “But you can tell us to back off, too.” 

“No,” Tommy says. “I don’t—uh.” 

She strokes his cheek some more, and lets him stew. Lucca, curious about all the goings-on, comes over and licks Tommy’s face a couple times before settling back on Jon’s lap. 

Tommy stares at Lucca, and slowly lifts his eyes from Jon’s lap to his hand to his arms to his neck to his face. 

He swallows. “Jon?” 

“I really like you,” Jon gets out. His eyes are so dark. Emily has a hand cupped around the back of his neck. 

Tommy laughs, helplessly. “No shit,” he says. He shoves Jon’s knee. “No fucking shit, we’ve only been best friends for about fifteen years.”

In fifteen years, they’ve never kissed. This has never come up, not even a little. Jon’s never tried, and Tommy wouldn’t ever even ask, of course. Because Tommy’s bi. Everyone in Tommy’s life knows that Tommy is bi. And Jon’s straight. Tommy thought. 

“How long have you—?” Tommy asks. 

Jon is embarrassed. He’s trying to hold it together, but Tommy knows all his tells. His leg is jiggling just a little. He’s scrunching and un-scrunching and re-scrunching his toes. 

It’s very cute. 

“An embarrassingly long time,” Emily supplies. “If it’s any comfort, at first he had no idea why he was staring at you all the time, and he couldn’t fathom why he _loves_ working out with you even though he hates working out with most people, and he had no idea why, every time you hugged, he would think about it for literally days afterwards.” 

“Oh my god,” Jon murmurs. He curls his toes and doesn’t uncurl them. 

“_I_ had to figure it out, and then I had to _tell_ him, and then I had to convince him it was a _good_ thing,” Emily adds. 

“_Oh_ my god,” Jon repeats, which doesn’t contradict her one bit. 

Emily taps Tommy’s cheek. “So if you could put him out of his misery. One way or another.” 

“I really can take a ‘no,’ Tom,” Jon adds, all earnest. His eyebrows are very expressive. “I don’t know if you know this, but we’ve been best friends for about fifteen years. I’m, like. Pretty into that. Wouldn’t want to let anything get in the way of that.” 

Tommy can’t help his smile. He probably looks very dopey. 

“Tom?” Jon says. 

He turns his head and kisses Emily’s palm first. He hears them inhale sharply in unison.

“Come here,” Tommy tells Jon. He kneels up, his hands on Jon’s knees, and Jon leans down, dislodging both dogs.

Jon holds Tommy’s face in both hands. He scratches his long fingers through Tommy’s hair, making Tommy shiver, and seals their lips together, sweet.

“More please,” Tommy says, right up against Jon’s lips, and Jon chuckles and gives him some more. 

It turns out Jon is a slow, thorough kisser. Tommy has spent a lot of time wondering, and even more time trying to forget his wonderings. 

Jon likes to tease until Tommy’s leaning up into him, stretching to keep their lips together, and then bite Tommy’s lip, or tug his hair a little, or slide his tongue shallowly into Tommy’s mouth. Tommy gives himself over to it, lets Jon guide his mouth a little more open, lets himself moan so Jon knows how much he likes this—and, God. He likes this a lot. 

When Jon pulls back for real to let them catch their breath, Tommy rests their foreheads together. It feels so deeply right. It feels so good to kneel between Jon’s legs, and touch his waist, and feel Jon’s thumbs stroking Tommy’s arms. Tommy could do nothing but relive this evening for the rest of his life and feel pretty good about it. 

Tommy can’t help but say, “God. I wish you’d told me earlier.” 

“Yeah?” Jon murmurs. 

Honesty is the only path that will lead anywhere real. Tommy knows that. It’s still terrifying to say, “Jon, I’ve been in love with you for—you know.” 

Jon sits back so he can see Tommy’s face. Tommy can feel Emily watching him, too. 

Tommy narrowly resists grabbing the nearest dog as an emotional shield. 

“Really?” Jon croaks. 

“Yeah,” Tommy replies. 

“Like?” Jon asks. 

“Like since the Senate office,” Tommy says, trailing to a whisper. 

He feels his eyes prickling. Shit.

Jon looks like he’s going to cry too. “God, Tom—I’m just—I’m really sorry,” he starts. “I’m sorry it took me so long.” 

Tommy kisses him once, firmly. “No, that’s not—get out of here with that,” he says, actually crying now. He laughs a little through it. “I just wanted you to know. I wasn’t ready all the way back then either. I was pretty freaked out at the time, actually. And, uh—” he doesn’t know how to say this, but “—I mean—your wife is—wow.” 

Emily reaches over and squeezes his hand. Tommy looks over—she’s crying too, with a hand over her mouth. 

“Em had to convince me you were into me,” Jon says. “And then I had to convince her that you clearly aren’t mad at her for, you know. Marrying me.” 

“No,” Tommy says, squeezing her hand, and then shuffling over so he can bear-hug her. She lets out a sob into his shoulder. She’s an easy crier, especially when she drinks. “I adore you,” he says, immediately wanting to punch himself for sounding dramatic. “I’ve never been mad at you for being with Jon.” 

“Really?” she says into his shoulder, all muffled. 

“Really really,” he says. “You make each other so happy.” 

“That’s true,” she says, still muffled. 

“And I don’t know if you know this,” Tommy adds, stomach swooping rollercoaster-style, “but I have a pretty big crush on you, Em. I hope that’s okay.” 

Emily emerges from his shoulder, a little snotty and very red. “Are you serious?” she says. 

“I mean, it’s okay, I can handle it if you don’t—” Tommy starts, but Emily cuts him off with a kiss. His eyebrows shoot up, she’s—Jesus—she’s very commanding. He can feel himself blushing. He sits back on his heels and, breathless, lets her lean over him and tilt his head back with a firm hand and take what she wants from him. 

“Oh my _god_,” Jon says, when they break apart. 

Tommy looks over. Jon’s blatantly hard in his sweats. 

Tommy snorts with laughter. Jon shoves his shoulder, and then shoves Emily’s too when she starts giggling. 

“Tommy, thanks for topping our tree,” Emily manages, through laughter. “Maybe you could, uh—”

“Oh my god, _don’t_ _do it_—” Jon interjects.

“—maybe you could top my husband sometime, what do you think about that?” Emily finishes. She’s _so_ red. 

“I can’t _believe you_,” Jon laughs, beet red too. 

“You made me responsible. This is what you get,” Emily tells him. She turns to Tommy. “Also, more generally, would you please date us?” she asks. 

“Sure,” Tommy says. His cheeks hurt from how hard he’s smiling. “Anytime.” 

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from (the English translation of) Auld Lang Syne:
>
>> And there’s a hand my trusty friend,  
and give us a hand of thine,  
and we’ll take a right good-will draught,  
for auld lang syne. 
> 
>   
I wish each of you a very happy New Year.
> 
> Do you have a few seconds? Tell me one thing you liked in the comments and make my day. :)


End file.
